


First and Last, Pink and Green

by starrelia



Series: Colours [1]
Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cisgender, Emotional Baggage, M/M, memory problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7266820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrelia/pseuds/starrelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timothy doesn’t like guns, and Jack doesn’t entirely know why that’s important. But it is. Timothy disliking guns is important. Just like everything else he does.</p><p>[It shouldn’t be.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	First and Last, Pink and Green

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jackassai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackassai/gifts).



> A late birthday fic for my friend, Axxie. This has already been posted on tumblr, and is now posted [some days later] on AO3.
> 
> EDIT: LMAO I MISTAGGED THIS

Timothy doesn’t like handling a gun, and Jack treats that with as much respect as he can from his position of work from here. He doesn’t _entirely_ get it- they rely on those damn things to even survive the most simple of contacts, and Timothy doesn’t like using them – but Jack doesn’t push and shove at Timothy to tell him _why._ Whatever that goes on in that noggin of his lover is his alone, even if Jack wants to sit down and dissect every single little bit of information from that brain of his.

There’s a lot he doesn’t know about Timothy, and a lot the other doesn’t really have an opportunity to give away and Jack… he gets that. It’s not like he knows everything about Jack either, so their relationship is a bizarrely easy balance where they realise that maybe, just right now or forever, they won’t be as close as they want to be.

But closeness isn’t something Jack wants – everyone he’s close to always, always – and Timothy is shaken up from the vault still.

He doesn’t like using guns even though it’s Timothy who swipes Jack’s gun and blows someone’s brains out when they try to kill Jack a few days after he becomes CEO. He holds Jack close, presses him to his side and cradles him as he, easily, kills a guy for Jack.

Excitement runs through his veins at that display and Jack ends up dragging him away and kissing Timothy, making his lips bleed as he gets underneath him so that he can do his worst.

The excitement is met with gentleness, uncertainty, and it’s not what Jack wants – but Timothy looks at him with a curious gaze, a look that shows he wants to learn, and Jack lets him do what he wants before he takes control and rides him like a champion.

Closeness isn’t something Jack wants, so this gentle shit has to go at some point. _Soon._

* * *

“Are you  _actually_ any good with a gun?” Timothy asks at some point as he fires off a couple of shots in the practice dummy, hitting close to dead center. “Like, I know—I know, you got your little wrist… laser things, but are you actually  _good_ with a gun? If you aren’t then, shit, I have absolutely no clue how you were able to make it this far.”

Jack’s eyebrows shoot upwards, eyes glinting. “That a challenge, Timmy boy?” Jack asks, lips curling into a grin and Timothy looks at him with a blank expression. “Ya sayin’ I dunno how to shoot a gun, huh? Because. I totally do. Like—ya can’t shoot _lasers_ if you can’t shoot a gun.”

He gets a shrug in response and Jack’s expression falters and falls into a glare when Timothy just stares at him blankly. “You seriously think I’m bad with a gun?” Jack asks, miffed, and Timothy nods. He jerks back, nearly falls off the table he’s sitting on, and grabs at the edge to steady himself. “I’m good with a gun!”

“Prove it.” Timothy says without even pausing, expression blank and one eyebrow arched, his beautiful damn expression looking far too incredulous for Jack’s tastes. He grabs one of the dull yellow and white Hyperion pistols and throws it towards Jack who manages to catch it. He looks the thing over – wow. It really _is_ as common as skag piss. When he looks up, Timothy points at the very same dummy that he has been shooting at and says, “that one. Try to shoot it.”

Jack tries not to pout as he slides off the table, the gun in his hand and Timothy just looks at him—something distant in his eyes and it’s…

It makes his skin crawl and Jack doesn’t question why. He stands at the little booth, raises his hand and aims—and takes a few shots.

He isn’t as accurate as Timothy is, not as used to this as he is either—it’s amazing to think how different they are. Jack knows how to use a gun—has to, if he wants to survive on the planet he came from – but it’s probably nowhere near the finesse that Timothy has.  Speaking of—Timothy clicks his tongue, grabs Jack’s hands as he presses against him, and he manhandles him around until he’s in a better position.

With that, his lover steps away. “Shoot again.” And so he does, though Timothy clicks his tongue again. “You’re… really not that confident with it, are you?”

Jack glares at him. Timothy sighs.

“Let’s fix your aim.” Timothy says. Pauses, then continues, “for if I’m not around.”

He looks at the gun in his hand then at Timothy, who’s grabbing one of the nicer looking guns, and admires the confident way he holds himself despite the serene expression on his face. “Sure, kiddo,” Jack says, “you just wanna press against my ass.”

Timothy rolls his eyes, his lips twitch into a shadow of a smile but they flatten out almost immediately and he goes back to instructing Jack immediately.

Guess he has to listen now—to the guy who hates using guns. What a twist.

* * *

They’re back at Jack’s suite, Timothy cooking up some pancakes despite it being one in the morning, and Jack – himself – just looks around his living room and… marvels, for a bit. The apartment flat he remembers having before this whole ordeal is nowhere near as extravagant as this, and Jack laughs and lets himself relax in the riches that surround and bathe him.

Timothy’s reaction is even better than his, though; they’re both still getting used to the suite, getting used to the wealth that radiates from the paintings, the statues, and the freaking wallpapers in this place. When Timothy comes over, plate of pancakes in hand and a smile on his face, Jack looks at him curiously.

He sits up and watches him eat for a bit, watches his mouth and then, ever so quietly, Jack asks, “have you ever used a gun ‘fore I asked ya to work for me?”

The sound of chewing is the only thing he hears for a bit as Timothy ponders over it, squints his eyes and tries to remember, and Jack taps his foot impatiently. He swallows and slowly shakes his head. “No,” Timothy answers, “I came from a pretty safe planet? Eden-2—“

“Wow. No wonder you were in shit debt, kiddo.” Jack interrupts and Timothy gives him an agitated look but he doesn’t deny the truth in Jack’s words. “Well! Now you don’t exist.” He says cheerfully but Timothy’s expression goes completely blank at that.

There’s a silence that follows, almost deafening, and Jack – even with his mind muddled with information of the world, everything and more and beyond – flinches at his mistake. “Kid-“ Timothy looks at him with a soft look, and that makes him sputter out apologies for a reason he can’t entirely understand.

Leaning forward, Timothy cups the back of Jack’s head – much to his surprise – and kisses him. “I guess,” Timothy says as they part, “I gotta make new memories then.”

Something in Jack’s heart flutters.

Best ignore that.

“That was cheesy.” Jack says, voice dripping with malice and sarcasm but Timothy just shrugs. “I ain’t sappy.” He continues, concludes, but Timothy – once again – shrugs.

“Whatever you say, _kiddo,_ ” Timothy responds in his best Jack voice – which is pretty great, Jack sometimes forgets their voice is the same until he does that.

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?”

“I do. Let’s just leave it at that- I’m _tired,_ and I don’t wanna talk.”

He glances over to the clock. It’s one-thirty now. Yeah. Sleep sounds good.

* * *

Timothy collects cat figurines, and Jack doesn’t notice this until weeks later. Or maybe they’ve always been in his line of sight and he’s just never really acknowledged them. He’s aware of Timothy’s love of cats—and his own throat goes tight and his heart beats far too quickly at the idea of them having cats. He doesn’t even—he doesn’t even know why he thinks of that, because Timothy has never actually expressed interest in having a cat.

He _loves_ them but he just collects little knick-knacks of them instead of actually wanting cats. But that will make him happy, and Jack halts that thought immediately.

They are not going to get a cat. They _won’t._ Who _cares_ if it makes Timothy happy? They are not getting a cat, and he knows he told Timothy – all of the vault hunters, really – why when Nakayama made them ask questions.

The cat figurines taunt him. He thinks of throwing them and breaking them, but he doesn’t want to deal with the argument that he and Timothy will have.

He just keeps staring at the figurines. He doesn’t even realise when Timothy seems to come into the same room as him, about to ask something but stopping when he sees Jack staring at the figurines.

His hands are shaking.

Jack is shaking, but he doesn’t notice that he is. Strong arms grab him and hold him close, and Jack stares into Timothy’s shoulder and he doesn’t know—what’s going on.

When’s the last time he felt this bad? He hasn’t thought about it in years.

They aren’t going to get a cat.

What’s wrong with him?

“We’re not getting a cat.” Jack barks out, sharply, without thinking about it and Timothy just pets his hair and runs his fingers through them and shushes him. “We’re not getting a _damn cat._ ” Jack repeats. Timothy pets him and stays quiet for a while.

He urges Jack to look up at him and he stares into familiar – once, familiar. Once familiar, not anymore – mismatched eyes and at the gentle expression on Timothy’s face. “I didn’t ask.”

And that’s that. The conversation doesn’t carry on, though Timothy continues to hold Jack until he falls asleep in his arms from the rush of emotions just… leaving him tired.

Timothy doesn’t mention it to him, and all the cat figurines aren’t in such an obvious spot anymore.

* * *

“What’re you thinking about?” Jack asks as Timothy plays with a (Hyperion! Of course) sniper rifle in his hands; cleaning it, picking it apart and then, slowly, putting it back together, aiming with it, that sort. Timothy looks up at him and smiles. “That doesn’t answer my question, dumb-dumb.” Jack says and Timothy shrugs.

“I’m just thinkin’ about home.” Timothy answers simply and Jack arches an eyebrow. “I miss my mum, that’s all.” Then, he shrugs. “I was also thinkin’ about how reeeeally bad I am at snipin’. Nisha’s waaaaaay better at it than I am.”

Jack blinks. “You have difficulties with snipers?”

“Yeah. My hands are too shaky for that sort of stuff – the first time it was nerves, I guess, and I just never bothered to learn how to get better at it so I… guess it never went away?” Timothy grimaces. “If I’m lucky, whatever you send me out to do does not require me to snipe. I am so bad at it.”

“And what if it does?” Jack challenges.

“Then send Nisha.” Timothy replies easily. “She’s getting antsy only being in Lynchwood, Jack. I think she’d enjoy a good old mission where she can snipe some bandits.”

Jack shrugs. “Seriously,” Timothy starts again, “send her out on a mission, okay? Maybe the next one. I don’t wanna go to Pandora again; just wanna… stay here. Stay at home.”

At first, he thinks Timothy wants to go back to Eden-2 and a part of him wants to yell at Timothy… but then the other looks at him with something warm and simple in his eyes and Jack closes his mouth.  A lump forms in his throat and Jack swallows—

There’s a simple expression on Timothy’s face again; one where he’s thinking about something. Whatever it is, Jack doesn’t know, but he does know that he seems very calm and serene.

Where Jack is jagged edges, Timothy is rounded corners.

He pretends he didn’t think about that just now and leaves Timothy to busy himself with the [unloaded] sniper rifle.

* * *

At most, Jack sleeps for an hour. At worst, he sleeps for twenty minutes. Tonight, he sleeps for three, and gets to actually remember his dream when he wakes up with eyes wide.

It’s early. Six in the morning early, to be exact.

Timothy’s turned and curling away from him, his back to Jack and his breathing even, quiet and steady. He’s relaxed, and Jack envies him for that—only slightly.

It’s not like he has a nightmare that he wants Timothy to comfort him with—Jack _does not_ need to be comforted—it’s more that…

The dream he remembers having is awfully domestic. He dreams of Timothy kissing his scar and intertwining their fingers, nuzzling and kissing and not doing much other than be affectionate, and Jack’s chest aches.

He remembers waking up after he tries to say ‘I love you’ back to Timothy.

Jack _doesn’t_ want to be close to anyone. Not this close. He doesn’t want to be close to anyone.

Timothy turns around and his eyes flutter open, awake, and he looks up at Jack and groans. “Go back to sleep.” Timothy says sweetly. “Don’t gotta work until nine.” He grabs at Jack’s arm and tugs him and he goes down easy, and Jack just stares at his sleepy face.

It’s free of scars. It’s Jack’s own face.

But it’s softer. Rounder. Nicer. It’s Timothy’s face more than it is Jack’s. He’s not Jack.

He presses a kiss to his nose.

* * *

Jack doesn’t want closeness. Not right now, not later in the future—not to his lover, who hates guns and handles them with care. Not to his – to his lover, that smiles and shares and talks about things that Jack doesn’t expect him to.

He doesn’t expect him to share. To talk. To try and understand Jack – or something. He gives small smiles and easy grins, far from Jack’s manic energy and glee that radiates from his every being.

Timothy hates guns. Why is that important? Timothy is merciful, more so than Jack, but he’ll protect if he has to. Kill if he has to.

But he hates guns. He wonders if he can make something or give Timothy something to use instead of a gun.

Jack wants to be slower with Timothy. Careful.

Because Timothy wants to learn; learning is slow, and Jack wants to learn alongside him.

Jack doesn’t want closeness. He doesn’t want the intimacy. He doesn’t want the softness and the gentleness of someone far too kind. He wants to go slow with Timothy.

Handsome Jack is not sappy. He’s not Cheesy Jack or Sappy Jack or—or Romantic Jack. He’s Handsome goddamn Jack.

But he doesn’t want to ruin anything.

When he sees Timothy again, he kisses him, tells him, “you make emotions difficult” because it’s true and Jack hides his face in his shoulder when Timothy questions him.

Fuck Moxxi.

Timothy’s not gonna be like her.


End file.
